Somebody That I Used To Know
by Iwritestuff0
Summary: Maybe they're all just better off pretending they never knew each other. - Post Mockingjay. Peeta never quite got over the hijacking.


She knew she had no right to be angry with him. It wasn't his fault the Capitol did this to them. Or rather, it was just as much _his_ as it was _theirs_, was maybe the better way of putting it. They had all agreed to walk this road together, after all.

Maybe she never loved him. Not the way he loved her, at least. It wasn't her fault though. She was his entire world, he was only a piece of hers. But somewhere along the line she'd managed to convince herself that he _was_ her world. She just didn't realize it until it was too late.

She has a way of noticing just how important people are to her the second they're no longer around.

And now they stood facing each other, barely concealed hatred burning in his eyes. It hurt. But it was familiar. She was used to it now. It was the same look she'd been seeing in the mirror every morning for the past year.

Neither of them would say it. A certain someone in their lives refused to let them speak the words out loud, even when all of three of them knew the truth anyway. So they're constantly caught up in the lie of "friendship".

Friends who don't speak, or visit, or joke, or comfort each other when the bad dreams start to creep in in the dead of night. But friends none-the-less. Because no one dared speak the truth out loud.

She's only vaguely surprised to feel relief when their backs are to each other and they're walking in opposite directions. Maybe she _was_ only pretending the whole time. Maybe she was just so good at pretending that she'd even managed to fool herself for a moment. But only for a moment, because the relief grew stronger with every step she took away from the Boy.

...

..

She saw him around town occasionally. It was eery the way the town had reknit itself. Almost as if nothing had changed. Everyone wanted to forget and move forward. But she was finding _she_ didn't.

He was across the road, looking through a window with an old friend. They were close. They were laughing. They were happy. She chalked the slight pain in her chest up to the fading cold she had recently gotten over.

The girl spotted her as she was passing. Greetings were exchanged. Pleasantries. Small talk. Almost as if nothing had changed. The Boy looked her in the eye and smiled. But it wasn't his old smile. It wasn't _her_ smile. And now she's just somebody that he used to know.

...

..

She doesn't know what took her to the man's house that night. Dusk had fallen by the time she was wandering up the road to their village. A yellow glow had shown faintly from his kitchen window in the fading light. It called to her and she wasn't in the mood to fight it tonight.

...

..

He glanced up briefly when she entered, busy fiddling with a bottle and his knife.

_What brings __**you**__ here, Sweetheart?_

She didn't favor him with a response and he wasn't expecting one. They both knew anyway. They'd grown accustomed to leaving things unsaid. She grabbed a half empty bottle from the counter and dropped into the seat across from him.

His gaze was hard as he watched her over the blade of the knife he was still toying with. His stare lacked the burn of the Boy's. She met it evenly.

He never liked it when she did this. But he never complained either. Not out loud. And so she kept doing it. Maybe she was seeing just how far she could push him.

_Guess you saw you-know-who today._

Maybe he was seeing just how far he could push her.

They never used the Boy's name if they could help it. Not anymore. He was just somebody that they used to know. His voice was low, but she could feel the steel in his words.

_Maybe I'm just here for your shining personality._

His face remains the same, but she knows her low blow struck him hard. They know _everything_ about each other. The only people they were fooling was themselves.

And even though they knew everything about each other he still had trouble brushing off her cutting remarks. Or maybe it's _because_ they knew everything about each other that he did.

...

..

He knew that deep down she blamed him just as much as she blamed herself. Just as much as she blamed the Boy. But he could never stop himself from giving her everything she wanted. Because the girl he once knew was still in there. That familiar fire burned in her eyes whenever she gazed at him through barely concealed tears. But right now she was just somebody that he _used_ to know.

And when she leaves again, and they fall apart again, he'll tell himself _never again_.

Until next time.

Until she sees the Boy again.

And until then, _he's_ just somebody that _she_ used to know.

...

..

_This __**isn't**__ about him._

She'll tell him in the harsh light of the kitchen.

_**This**__ isn't about him._

She'll whisper to him in the dark of his bedroom.

_This isn't about __**him**__._

She'll mumble quietly to herself as she slips silently from his bed in the morning.

He always pretends not to hear the last one. Maybe it's because somewhere along the line he's lost track of which "him" she's talking about.

...

..

And when they pass each other on the street it's like they've never met. Until she sees the Boy, and the Boy denies her, and she ends up in the _his_ kitchen with a bottle in her hand, and the whole horrible cycle starts once again.

Maybe they're all just better off pretending they never knew each other.


End file.
